Remembrance Will Only Bring Heartache
by Owlkin
Summary: A battered but alive Karigan is received in the throne room by her King and Queen. Post BV.


He grasped the arms of his chair, willing himself to remain seated as she was led into the throne-room by Fastion. Beside him, Estora sat prettily on the edge of her own seat, a serene expression on her face as she regarded the Rider who slowly made her way before them. They were the only three individuals in the room, besides the handful of Weapons scattered unobtrusively in the shadows.

His eyes hungrily drank in the sight of her as she approached. Her skin was covered in bruises and scratches, and her hair hung limp in the braid that trailed down her back. He had learned of her other injuries through Laren, but to see her cradle her bandaged wrist to her chest and limp almost proudly across the marble floors . . . . it did not matter, for she had never been more beautiful to him.

Those cerulean eyes locked with his own and his breath lodged in his throat, stopping any words from leaving his lips.

Grief, sadness, and regret swirled in their depths as she blinked and gingerly bowed at the waist, casting her gaze back to the floor.

It was his Queen that broke the silence.

"We welcome you home, Sir Rider, and thank you for your devoted service to the crown,' Estora said smoothly, inclining her head in a stately bow of acknowledgement.

Karigan raised her gaze and gave a small nod in Estora's direction, before looking back at him. Inwardly he winced and felt a pressure build within his chest as she seemingly waited for her King to speak.

_And what would he be able to say to her? How would he ever again speak to her as he once did? That time was almost certainly forever gone._

Already knowing the details of her debriefing, he pursed his lips and leaned forward slightly as he contemplated his greeting. "I trust you are healing adequately, Sir Rider?"

She looked startled by this question but nodded slowly, "As well as can be expected, sire," she almost whispered.

"You will, of course, be given ample time to recuperate here in Sacor City, you need not be returned to duty immediately," he stated, earning a sideways glance from Estora.

Karigan stiffened and responded in an almost emotionless voice, "I thank you sire, but given my quick recovery thus far, there is no need to keep me from the road."

She did not want to stay.

He fought the urge to grit his teeth at her obstinacy and looked at her with narrowed eyes, "And if it were my express wish that you remain in Sacor City?"

Her gaze blazed with fire as her head snapped up, "Only the express command of my King could keep me from my sworn duty, and I do not think it is in his best interest to keep experienced Riders locked up in the barracks," she hissed.

He could see Estora tense out of the corner of his eye, but at that moment he didn't care who was watching as he came to his feet. "You were found, _nearly dead_, inside a sealed sarcophagus! It is only prudent that you recover fully before you are sent back out," he reprimanded her.

"It is not your duty to care about what happens to me," she replied, almost angrily. Twin spots of color appeared in her cheeks as she defiantly glared at him. He reeled back slightly, as if he had been struck. She looked a tad remorseful at the words she had uttered but determinedly kept her gaze locked with his.

Remembering the other woman who sat at his side, he turned his head slightly to take in the flushed countenance and rigid posture that Estora had adopted. She refused to look at either of them, but the way her hand clutched at her skirts in a white-knuckled grip bespoke of her aggravation.

Karigan too, had noticed the behavior of the Queen, and visibly schooled her features back into compliance. Not before he saw the flash of disbelief when she spied the curve of Estora's belly. His own gut clenched when he witnessed Kari duck her head, hiding a brief sheen of tears. The Queen, in a manner that he found uncharacteristic and more than a little disturbing, turned up the corners of her mouth in an almost smug smile as she caressed the swell of her growing stomach.

He knew this to be his fault. He did not regret the child, but the circumstances that surrounded its conception. He regretted bending so easily to the whims of a council, who refused to see beyond the walls of the city, to the dangers that lurked at their borders. And most of all, he regretted the manipulation that he fell to; orchestrated by those he trusted most.

But in truth, it was a situation of his own making. It all boiled back down to the lack of assertiveness he had shown in those critical moments.

And now, he was paying for those mistakes. Most dearly, as he watched the love of his life sketch a hasty bow, turn on her heel, and leave their royal presence.

Estora's voice was deceptively calm as she remarked airily, "She was not dismissed, was she my dear? Perhaps we ought to have her brought back."

"No, that will not be necessary," he responded shortly, taking his seat heavily.

She frowned and glanced back up at the double doors, "Surely, such a blatant show of disrespect-"

"Can be excused due to the extreme duress she has experienced," his voice rang with an edge of steel.

Estora fell quiet again and seemed to pout as she fiddled with a pendant underneath the neckline of her gown. His eyes followed the gesture and squinted as he recognized the gift from his wayward cousin.

Truly, it was a shame they did not spend more time together.

Since his recovery, he had increasingly found the Estora he knew to be replaced by a petty, vain, and power-hungry woman. A woman not afraid to use her smiles and tears to obtain her desires in the royal household.

The nobles of his council smiled at her antics, calling it the plague of marriage that she should revert back to such catty behavior. A few of the older ones had given him a sympathetic smile and suggested it was the presence of the babe that caused her disposition to be altered so drastically.

He was not so sure of that.

However, he was certain that he had all but lost his foundation. His rock, his center, was permanently out of reach. He had gambled and made his decisions in regards to his personal life, and he had lost.

He would bear it, as would his Rider, and he would continue on with his duty. The threat to his country and his people would be eliminated, his child would be born, raised and groomed for leadership, and he would pass on.

There was nothing left now but to wearily move forward. And not for the first time in his reign, he stifled the urge to curse and scream at the heavens.


End file.
